Tag Archives: anorexia

Marrying the mental and the mischief

It always surprises me how aspects of my kink related play marry to other aspects of myself.

Let me back up briefly.

 It’s about to get a bit personal.

I have struggled with an eating disorder for over the past decade, though I am now medically considered recovered. I was hospitalized for it back in my late teens and it has influenced some of my current medical conditions.

My relationship with food is still complicated. Especially around holidays like Thanksgiving. I have to navigate a prickly maze of thorn-laden hedges in my brain to merely sit down with family and eat a plateful of food.

I deal with it in my day-to-day life mostly by grazing. It tricks my brain and those darkly creeping thoughts to only eating a little at a time. It’s the plates full of food in front of other people that sets off that siren screaming in my head. Calling the cruel goddess Ana to my brain with her poisoned words and glittering sharp teeth. Just a couple pounds less. Always just a couple less.
Her demand of sacrifice is a throwback to the days of pagans gathered around an unfortunate virgin, knives gleaming.

But I have found a surprising weapon in the community and exploration of kink. Not just the support I receive from friends and mentors when the dark thoughts curl around my feet, but also the play itself.



The subspace is untouchable by Ana. It is a thickly layered brick maze that she cannot navigate. The stinging of a flogger, the thudding of a paddle, they add barbed wire to those brick walls. The rip of tape, the slithering sound of rope, the zap of electricity…

All of these things are soothing to me. They bring me to a place that I cannot bring myself. 

It may seem unorthodox, and I’m sure the average mental-health professional would be floored by the therapy I get from play. After hitting subspace, I haven’t the inclination or motivation to count calories or restrict myself.



The food I put in my mouth after a scene is so goddamn guilt-free delicious.

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

Spiraling

The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.

-Barry H. Gillespie

I was doing well. I was. I have a house. I own it 100% outright. I’m doing this adult thing. I even traveled this year.

But life isn’t a straight path. It’s a spiral and half the time, you come right back around to where you were.

And where I am now is not good.

My life is a spiral.

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Slipping (ED trigger)

 

 

 

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It seems fitting that this is one of this week’s Postsecrets.  I connect with this confessor like an echo.

My blood pressure is finally starting to settle down around 135/98 (best it’s been in months).

All I feel is Her teeth gnawing at my ankles.

Her dry and stale breath washing over my face when I close my eyes.

Her hissing words vibrating in my chest.  Stop eating. Stop smelling. Stop looking. Stop tasting. You don’t deserve any of this.

It has settled around the time of my birthday, which I would think is strange except I realize this is a time where I feel friends and family trying to fatten me up like a farm animal.  Just in time for the county fair.

Fat pigs need to starve

I’m not sure if I can step away this time.  I felt a taste of Her will a couple months ago and managed to shake it off.  But this time…

This time does feel like coming home.

Like I’ve been lost and cold for so very long.  There is finally a comfortable hearth I can settle in front of of and warm this aching chill.

I can trade the time intended for consuming that lumpy fat others call food.  I can trade it for sleeping. For daydreaming. For running. For hiking. For all the things in the world that will make me strong and clean and empty.  

Empty is good.  Empty is safe.  Empty is accepting.

ED Recovery App Update

A little while ago, I stumbled across the Recovery Record app and wrote about it.

After using it for a couple weeks, I’ve discovered that one of my commenters was right; this app just brings my disorder to the forefront of my mind.

The constant “EAT” reminders that buzzed on my phone every couple hours just overwhelmed me and make me uncomfortable.  The detailed food log just made me want to have a lack of food to log.

All in all, I’m sad to report it was very triggering.  I do hope it was better for others, but I wanted to mention my experience.

Anyone else have any experiences to share?

Today’s Heroes

Have you seen this?

Watch it.  Seriously.

This advertisement floored me when I saw it a couple days ago for the first time.

More than a number?  It may seem like simple advertising techniques to a marketing excecutive.

“Oh women are always concerned with weight and sizes.  What if we just made sizes flattering names instead?”

What I don’t think they realized is the impact it would have on someone who struggles with ED.

The whispers of my ED were stunned into silence after seeing this commercial.  It was terrified of a world where it couldn’t dictate to me to get down to that size.  To the winning size.

How could the whispers possibly hiss and bully without the elusive 00 goal?

In this beautiful boutique the commercial paints; all sizes are merely empowering descriptors.

It’s a deep, dark struggle to tell friends or partners “…now I’m a size 7.”

But wouldn’t it be beautiful to tell a friend “Now my size is fabulous!  What about you?”

The hissing and bubbling and bullying would be forced to cower and grumble in disappointment.  It’s hard to make words like Stunning, Confident, Courageous, or Charismatic a punishment.

I like radiant myself

I like radiant myself

I think Special K has made a surprisingly strong (and perhaps unintentional) message to not only the general self image we are obsessed, but the size focus a lot of eating disorders and other mental-health diagnoses struggle with.

I’m ready to re-label all our sizes!  Let’s do away with numbers!  It’s time for some positive change!

The Goddess Ana and Mia can only crumble before these heroes.  I imagine these modern heroes fighting just as bravely as the famous Greek ones of mythic lore.

Meet Radiant: A fiery redhead who in the past would rather sleep than do anything.  Now she uses her two powerful short swords to slash at the black curtains of depression and self-harm that these hateful goddesses erect daily.

Meet Charismatic: A smiling blond whose song can stop a truck.  She used to sing the blues but now she rocks out with all the energy of hope.  She loves it even more when she can get others to sing with her.  Her friends and family comment how much her smile lifts their spirits and how glad they are to see it again.

Meet Fabulous: This brunette used to stay in the bathroom, bogged down by the whispers and tormented by what she thought was her own desire for death.  But now she stands strong and using a mirror shield, reflects the goddesses own images and nasty words back at themselves.

These are today’s heroes.  They want nothing more than to drive away the black hole that only sucks and sucks.  To replace it with the shining light of hope, healing, strength, love.  To show you that you are a beautiful person.

And you can be a hero too.

What new size do you like the sound of?

Disclaimer:  I don’t work for or with Kellogg’s in any way.  I haven’t received any compensation.  I did this post merely because their ad struck me on a personal level.  I actually don’t even eat cereal.

ED Recovery App without the stress/guilt!

The absolutely gorgeous lady over at The Fat Ballerina posted about a Recovery Record App available for FREE for most smartphones and tablets.

I just downloaded it and haven’t had a chance to explore it thoroughly, but what I read so far on the description and reviews has me excited.

Here’s something that may manage to let me track and log like my brain likes to do; but keep it as positive and guilt-free as possible.  Perhaps avoid too much triggering and encourage some better eating habits.

Please let me know if any of you have already tried it and have opinions or if any of you happen to try it out here soon and want to let me know what you think!

Remember; you are beautiful and braver than you realize!  Be gentle with yourself!

Rose-Tinted Lies

**(EXTRA Trigger warning for blunt and not pretty ED talk)**

The_Reflection_of_Flight_by_kitkatfox

The glow and flame and burst of light you think you’ll have.  The silver insides, the fluttering clean, the glorious empty, the lightly skipping steps of a person who is perfectly thin.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

Here’s what an eating disorder really is for me:

It’s two am and I wake up with those sudden feelings of self-hatred and the flab seems to be clinging, clinging,  Something has to be done.  It doesn’t matter that work is in the morning and I really shouldn’t be a shell at work.  I reach for the pills.

It’s living a life where measurement of pills are dolled out by shakes of a bottle and tosses into a shaking palm.  Proper dosage is only “more”.

It’s making sure I have enough ephedrine to curb the hunger pains and exhaustion.  It’s reading the articles that talk about it being mostly outlawed because when it was coupled with caffeine and aspirin it caused dramatic weight loss (and a lot of health problems).  And my only reaction is “gotta get some low-dose aspirin”.

It’s telling people I love eating hot sauce straight because I’m a weird nut about spicy food; when it’s really because it acts as a natural laxative and adds next to no calories.  And loving that it burns the shit out of my tongue so I don’t want to eat more.

It’s the burning and painful tenderness of my behind after I’ve had a particular violent bought with the laxative effects.

It’s sobbing in the middle of a weekend afternoon because I desperately want to bake something (baking being my secret passion) but knowing I’m not seeing anyone soon that I could pawn the results off on.  So I have to stop myself from doing it.  Otherwise I’ll just eat the results and cow’s don’t deserve desserts.

It’s being a little happy deep down when a particularly nasty migraine results in multiple days of vomiting.

It’s hating myself so deeply, so darkly, in a twisting thorn of rage, for the days after those migraines where I can’t eat enough.

It’s telling coworkers that I ate before I came to work and I would prefer to just work through lunch.

It’s shaking and trembling in the bathroom after those handful of laxatives, the cramping in my stomach so bad that I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

It’s unexplained bruises and scratches when I wake up in the morning.  The only clue is a echoing cry of despairing self-hatred in the back of head.  It is almost childlike.

It’s hearing my best friend tell me I look like a pinup model in a swim suit and wishing, just wishing, that I could see myself that way.  I’m not dumb, I know my eyes are broken.

It’s hearing my mother say “You would never treat another person the horrible way you treat yourself” and being stunned into silence by the truth of it.  I am my own worse enemy.

It’s hoping, hoping, hoping that something will change.  But nothing ever does.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

Breaking a promise

(trigger warning for self-harm discussion)

I’m so very angry with myself.  And feeling remorse/regretful.

I broke my promise to myself last night.  I could go into which bit of me did and that it was an insider and not the “whole me”, but I feel like that’s just trying to dodge the blame.  It doesn’t matter “who” decided to do it.  It doesn’t matter.

I broke a promise.

It’s been three months since I’ve actually cut.  I’ve thought about it.  I’ve talked about doing it.  But I haven’t done it since I moved to my new place.

I’ve drank, I’ve self-medicated, and I’ve restricted.  But not cut.  Not that.  I promised myself I wouldn’t.  I promised my friends I wouldn’t.

Why can’t I just keep that one promise?  Why?  Three months is barely anything.  I feel so lost, so remorseful, so…

Sad.

I can’t wear shorts this weekend.  I’ll have to be sneaky with Army if we get intimate unless I want him to lecture me (again).

Mad.

The burn and sting of the freshly opened cuts feels so sickeningly good.  It shouldn’t.  I know it shouldn’t.  I hate that it does and I’m so mad that I would use that feeling to try and justify doing it.

Bad.

I just can’t win.  I thought the promise was something I valued.  I thought I (all of us) truly meant it.  I thought we could keep this new apartment free of that negative energy.

But blood has been spilled.  And blood stains.  It soaks in and ruins everything it touches.

I am worthless.

F-A-T